


Gold, Flannel, and Silk

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Presents, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 03:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16756693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Barba's Christmas gift to Benson doesn't get the reaction he expects





	Gold, Flannel, and Silk

Benson stared down into the box. Her initial feeling was one of confusion, and she plucked at the thin straps of silk cautiously, half-lifting the fancy black lingerie from the tissue paper. Her stomach was fluttering nervously, but her thoughts were still too jumbled to make sense of the gift.

She dropped the silk-and-lace nightie back into the shallow box and reached for the discarded wrapping paper, flipping it over to check the tag. _Olivia, merry Christmas. Rafael._

Her stomach continued to squirm uneasily. There had to be some mistake. He couldn’t possibly have meant to send her… _lingerie_. But if there had been a mix-up, then…that meant she’d gotten someone else’s gift.

And just like that, the uneasy flutters in her stomach settled into a cold, heavy lump. Whoever had wrapped the gifts for him—the store, or perhaps Carmen—must’ve put the labels on the wrong packages.

“Mom,” Noah said, and Benson looked up, startled as she realized it was at least the second time her son had called her.

“Sorry,” she answered, flipping the tissue paper over the skimpy black article. “What, honey?”

“What’s that?” Noah asked, pointing at the box resting on her knees.

“Just boring clothes,” she said, somehow managing a smile. “What did you get from Uncle Rafa?”

Noah’s gifts from Barba had been delivered a week earlier, and Benson had hidden them beneath a blanket in her closet. She knew what they were, as Barba had gotten her approval before having the toys sent over. He certainly hadn’t asked for her approval before sending lingerie, though.

She tried to focus on what Noah was saying as he excitedly explained the Lego sets and demonstrated the robotic dog’s tricks. “Wow,” she said. “That’s pretty cool.”

“Can I eat my chocolate?” Noah asked, dragging his stocking over to his side.

She almost told him he had to wait until after breakfast, but she relented. It was Christmas morning, and Noah was happy. What else mattered? “Sure,” she said. “But only a few pieces for now. And then we have to clean up all this paper before I make pancakes, okay?”

“Okay,” Noah agreed, tearing the foil from a chunk of chocolate.

Once he was distracted by his candy, Benson lifted the paper to look at the silk nightie again. There was no card inside the box, no explanation.

She thought she’d been prepared, but the stab of pain still caught her off guard. She replaced the cover on the box, trying to swallow around the lump suddenly lodged in her throat. There was no way that the lingerie was for her; there was no way that Barba would give her something like that without warning. Not as a joke, and certainly not as an attempt to move their friendship to a different level.

She’d hoped there was a chance, now that neither of them was seeing anyone, that a day might come—

She shoved that thought away, though. As painful as it was to realize, he apparently _was_ seeing someone, and she had to buck up and let him know that his gifts had been switched. He’d most likely be embarrassed to learn that she’d seen the black nightie, but maybe they could laugh about it. As soon as she got her jealousy and irrational sense of hurt under control.

She picked up her phone and hesitated. She was afraid to call him, afraid he would hear in her voice that she was upset. Besides, he might be sleeping in. He’d gone to midnight mass with his mother, and Benson knew they were having dinner in the afternoon. There was no reason for Barba to be up so early.

_Coward_ , she thought, cursing herself. _You just want to be able to pretend, to fool yourself into believing this_ was _meant for you_.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her, and she almost dropped it.

**Merry Christmas.**

The text was from Barba, as though she’d conjured his name on her phone.

**Merry Christmas :)** she responded, horrified to feel the tears stinging the backs of her eyes. _Idiot_ , she thought. _It’s your own fault. You waited too long_. She knew it was true. She had nobody to blame but herself. If she’d wanted something more than friendship from him, she should’ve laid her cards on the table while there was time.

**Thank you for the chain** , he said. **It’s perfect. And the scotch, of course. And tell Noah thank you for the tie, I didn’t have a single ‘penguins in Santa hats’ tie if you can believe it.**

In spite of herself, she laughed. She’d known as soon as Noah picked the tie out that Barba would find it amusing—and that he’d actually wear the damned thing. As for the chain, she’d worried she might be overstepping, but she knew he hadn’t found the time to replace his, and she knew how much his grandmother’s cross meant to him. The gold necklace had broken two days earlier, and Barba had been carrying the cross inside his wallet since then.

**I kept the receipt if you want a different chain** , she texted.

**It’s perfect** , he repeated. **Seriously. Thank you.**

There was a pause while she tried to gather the courage to tell him about the mix-up with his gift. Before she could manage to type the words, he texted again.

**Did you open yours?**

**Yes** , she sent. She started to write a second text and hesitated when he responded.

**Is the size alright? I wasn’t sure but I thought a little big might be better than too small.**

She looked down into the box. _A little big?_ she thought. She eyed the dark silk and lace. She was sure she could shimmy her way into it, though it wouldn’t cover much and it couldn’t get much smaller. She shook her head, reminding herself that he must be talking about something else.

**I don’t think this is the right box** , she answered.

**What do you mean?**

**I don’t think this present is for me.**

**Why not?**

**It seems too intimate** , she answered after a moment. She didn’t want to type the word _lingerie_ , this whole situation was painful enough.

**Pajamas?**

She barely suppressed the laugh that tried to bubble past her lips. _Pajamas?_ she thought, appraising the nightie.

**Sorry** , he texted. **I just thought you could use something nicer to sleep in**.

She reread the words several times, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

**I didn’t mean to cross a line** , he said.

She felt a surge of guilt. Had she possibly misread the entire thing? He couldn’t possibly think she would _sleep_ in such a thing, could he? But then again, he might not have picked it out himself. Maybe he’d asked Carmen, or a personal shopper, to buy her ‘pajamas’ and didn’t even know what they’d sent. Benson sighed, running a hand over her face. That certainly seemed like a logical explanation.

**Sorry** , he repeated.

**No, I’m sorry** , she answered. **It’s nice. Thank you.**

There was a long pause, and she was afraid she’d hurt his feelings.

**And Noah loves his presents, of course. He hasn’t stopped playing with that dog since he opened it.**

**I’m glad** , he answered. **I have to go. See you back at work?**

She felt her stomach sink as she read his words. She’d run the emotional gamut in a matter of minutes, and she’d made a mess of things. She vowed to herself that she would explain the situation when she saw him, no matter how embarrassing it might be. **Merry Christmas. Tell your mom we said so.**

**Merry Christmas, Liv** , he answered.

“Momma, did you get blueberries for the pancakes?” Noah asked.

“Yes,” she answered. “Come on, let’s clean up this disaster area.” She set the box aside, doing her best not to think about what was inside—trying especially hard not to imagine that Barba had been hoping to see her wearing it.

 

*       *       *

 

Barba sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone. _It seems too intimate_ , he thought, rereading her text for the fifth time. It hadn’t occurred to him that flannel pajamas might cross some sort of line, but now that he thought about it, he supposed it _should_ have occurred to him. She was right, for God’s sake, pajamas _were_ intimate. They said he’d been thinking about what she might wear to bed, and that was something he really had no right to be thinking about.

He’d stopped by her apartment the week before, just after she’d put Noah to bed, to drop off some paperwork for their court appearance early the next morning. Benson had been in what appeared to pass for sleepwear—a pair of NYPD sweatpants with multicolored streaks of old paint, and a holey shirt that seemed to be disintegrating; the shirt was so thin in places, in fact, that he’d spent most of the night chastising himself for inappropriate thoughts that wouldn’t leave his mind, thoughts that had kept him awake and uncomfortable for far too long.

He’d decided to get her something nicer, and had gone into the store on Christmas Eve with his jaw clenched, studiously ignoring anyone who looked in his direction. He’d also ignored all the displays of lace and silk and tiny little scraps of velvet, keeping his eyes focused on the cozy-looking flannel and his mind as far from the gutter as he could corral it. If his traitorous brain couldn’t even be trusted with the sight of her in an old t-shirt, he didn’t need to catch sight of some fancy piece of lingerie and start imagining the silk whispering against her skin…

He’d decided on red and green plaid flannel—Christmassy and soft, not sexy. He’d paid a ridiculously high price but comforted himself with the thought that she’d never have to know how expensive they were. He’d considered asking the cashier if the flannel was stitched together with gold and decided against it. Instead, he’d paid for the pajamas, had them wrapped, and arranged for them to be delivered Christmas morning for an extra fee.

He was pretty sure he’d had good intentions, but now it seemed clear that those intentions had been misplaced, and he muttered a curse beneath his breath. Her gift had been thoughtful and sweet; more than thoughtful, in fact. He’d actually felt the burn of tears when he’d opened the narrow box to see the gold chain for his grandmother’s cross. And he’d felt better about the cost of the pajamas when he saw the bottle of scotch she’d gotten him, because he knew exactly how expensive the brand was.

And he was definitely going to wear Noah’s penguin tie with pride, because he had no doubt that the boy had picked it out himself.

Inside the card, written in Benson’s handwriting, was the message: _Merry Christmas, Rafael. Love, Olivia and Noah._

Barba had opened the presents the night before, but he’d forced himself to wait until morning, when he knew she must surely be up with Noah, to text her. All through mass with his mother, he’d found his mind straying to the words in the card. _Love, Olivia and Noah_. He knew it didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean; they _did_ love him, as a friend and an honorary uncle, and he wasn’t about to ruin things by letting her know that his love for her had crossed out of the realm of friendship a long time ago.

He sighed and looked toward the window. There was a weather advisory in effect, with a forecast for one of the worst December blizzards on record. New Yorkers were advised to stay indoors if possible, as high winds, frigid temperatures, and heavy snowfalls were set to ravage much of the eastern seaboard until the new year.

Barba had to venture out to visit his mother’s for an early dinner, and then he would return to his apartment. He hadn’t bothered decorating for the holiday, except for laying out his grandparents’ antique nativity and taping up the Christmas cards he’d received. Now, he almost wished he had. The lack of festivity was depressing.

He thought of Olivia and Noah, snuggled up on the sofa with hot chocolate and a day’s supply of Christmas DVDs, both wearing cozy flannel. Their apartment was decorated to the brim, and they would be protected from, and unaffected by, the howling swirl of snow pelting the city outside. For one day, at least, they would exist in their own little world, a warm cocoon.

Barba was alarmed by how badly he wished he could join them.

 

*       *       *

 

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she’d become that Barba didn’t know exactly what he’d bought her. And unless he asked, she’d decided not to tell him. She would apologize if he still seemed upset by her reaction, and then they would move past it. They were good at moving past things. If their friendship could survive her relationship with Ed Tucker, it could certainly survive a Christmas present.

It was actually funny, she supposed. She didn’t begrudge him having someone else buy and deliver his presents, she knew how busy he was. And his heart had been in the right place—she’d seen him eyeing the raggedy shirt and sweats she’d been wearing the other night, and she’d known how sad they must appear. He’d said it himself, that he’d wanted to get her something “nicer,” and the silk nightie couldn’t have been cheap.

It was soft against her skin, and it fit better than she’d expected. In fact, it hugged her curves perfectly, and the black silk was surprisingly flattering. It made her pale skin appear to _glow_ , and she bit her lip as she examined herself in the full-length mirror. She was far from young, but in this lingerie, she looked good. She looked better than good.

It was a shame she didn’t have anyone to appreciate it, and she sighed as she ran her palms over the silk. Noah was asleep, and the apartment was quiet. She considered calling Barba and inviting him over. She could throw on a robe to answer the door, lead him into the bedroom, and show him exactly how well his gift hugged her body.

She smiled at the thought, but it was a sad smile. Even if there weren’t a blizzard raging outside, she couldn’t do it. He might be open to something more than friendship, but the only way to know for sure would be to gather up her courage, sit him down, and ask. She definitely couldn’t blindside him with an attempt at seduction.

She sank down on the edge of her bed and grabbed her phone. **I hope you had a good Christmas** , she texted. **Goodnight, Rafa**.

Unless he was in court, he almost always answered within a minute. She waited, but he didn’t respond. She sighed again, looking toward the window. Maybe he was out celebrating. Wherever he was, she hoped he was safe and happy. She hated how much she wished he was with her, instead.

 

*       *       *

 

Over five hours of Pinochle, Canasta, and Bridge with his mother and her two best friends, both of whom were in their late seventies. _Five hours_. By the time he’d delivered the two women home in his hired car—practically having to carry them each into their buildings so they wouldn’t be swept away by the snow-filled wind—and dragged himself into his own apartment, it was after ten.

He was tired, hungry, cold, and wet—and more than a little cranky. He chose to settle into the crankiness because it didn’t feel quite as pathetic as the self-pity simmering beneath. He pulled off his gloves and used them to slap the snow from his clothes just inside his door, hitting himself harder than necessary and glaring at the mess he was making on the floor.

It wasn’t the worst Christmas he’d ever had—he loved his mother, and he liked her friends—but it was far from the top of his list. He slipped out of his coat and hung it up with a sigh, looking around his dark and quiet and lonely apartment. For a moment the façade of irritation started to crack, and he felt a hint of despair trying to seep through. He did his best to shove it back and made a beeline for the kitchen counter where he’d left his new, expensive bottle of scotch.

He drew out his phone as he went, and cursed when he saw that he’d missed a text from Benson nearly an hour earlier. _Goodnight, Rafa_.

“I’m such a fucking asshole,” he muttered under his breath. The snow was melting in his hair, and the cold water had begun to trickle down the back of his neck. He shivered, setting the phone on the counter and snatching up the bottle. It was probably too late to answer her, now. She might be up, but he didn’t want to risk it. He’d talk to her in the morning, apologize for…something. Whatever he needed to apologize for. It would be fine. Things would go back to normal. They always went back to normal. Their friendship was stronger than one bad Christmas gift.

He set the bottle down with a thunk, unopened, and ran a hand over his cold face. The truth was, he didn’t _want_ things to go back to normal. He reached for his phone with no idea of what he intended, but as soon as he picked it up, he heard the familiar tone of an incoming email. Irrationally glad for the distraction, he opened his email expecting some sort of solicitation.

It _was_ from a store, the store he’d visited the day before, but it didn’t seem to be an advert. It was from customer service, and he eyed the bottle of scotch as he tapped his screen to open the message. It would be easy to strip out of his wet clothes and suck at the bottle until the burning liquid carried him into oblivion, and he wasn’t sure that the threat of a miserable morning was enough deterrent.

He returned his gaze to the phone and scanned the message, frowning.

_Mr. Rafael Barba_

_It has come to our intention that an error was made during the wrapping and delivery of one of your purchases at our store yesterday. Your gift was mislabeled and consequently sent to the wrong recipient, while their purchase was delivered to the address you provided. We apologize profusely for this mistake and any subsequent confusion or inconvenience. Rest assured we have already issued a full refund to your credit card. Happy holidays. Store Management._

By the time he’d read his way through the message, Barba’s temples were thudding dully and his stomach was churning uneasily. It said _one of your purchases_ , but he’d only bought one thing at their store. He read the email again. The bottle of scotch was forgotten. The snow melting down into his collar was forgotten.

“What the hell did you send her?” he muttered, barely aware he’d spoken aloud. “Oh, God.” Her text came back to haunt him: _Too intimate_. His mind shied away from the memory of all those racks and bins that he’d worked so hard to ignore on his way through the store. He shook his head, wincing as slush splattered down from his hair. _It can’t be that bad_ , he thought, _or she would’ve told me off._

He typed out a quick response to the email. He had no idea if he would get an answer, but if they didn’t respond the email, he would call the number at the bottom of the message. He didn’t care that it was nearly ten-thirty on Christmas night; he needed to know how badly they’d screwed up his life.

_What item was sent to my recipient?_ he asked.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair and started pacing while he waited. Maybe his gift of flannel pajamas hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought. He looked down at his screen when the reply came through, and he stopped in the middle of the living room, staring at the photo.

He uttered a startled laugh, and while the sound wasn’t completely devoid of humor it was filled with something much closer to horror. He cautiously touched his finger and thumb to the screen, dragging them outward to enlarge the picture.

All his efforts at governing his thoughts went right out the window, and every inch of his body was suddenly flushed with uncomfortable heat. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “She’s going to fucking kill me.” He laughed again, but it sounded dangerously close to a whimper as he closed his eyes in an effort to block out the images assaulting his wayward mind.

It didn’t help. He’d already visualized Benson standing in front of him in nothing but that scrap of dark silk and lace, and he couldn’t shake the image loose no matter how much he cursed himself.

_It seems too intimate_ , he thought, and he almost threw his phone across the room to rid his hand of the damning evidence.

_No wonder she was acting weird about it_ , he thought, touching his palm to his forehead. _She tried to suggest it was a mistake and I basically told her I’d sent her fucking lingerie to sleep in. Oh my god._ He laughed again, shaking his head. _She must think I’ve lost my mind—or that I’m an asshole._

_Did she think I’d gotten this thing for someone else?_ he thought, surprised by how much the idea hurt. Neither of them had dated anyone for a while, and he’d thought—or maybe just _hoped_ —that they’d been cautiously, but mutually, heading toward the possibility of—

He shook the thought off and turned toward the door. None of that mattered now. Tonight the only thing that mattered was salvaging their friendship, and he threw on his wet coat before dialing the phone and leaving his apartment.

 

*       *       *

 

Benson yanked her door open, her gaze sweeping down the length of Barba’s snow-caked body. “What the _hell_ , Barba?” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him into her apartment.

“I don’t want to get your floor wet,” he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering too loudly as he stumbled inside.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped, and he realized she was unwrapping his wet scarf from his neck. “Get out of this coat before you freeze to death. What are you doing out in this blizzard?”

“You got the wrong present,” he said.

His reflexes had been slowed by his chill, but he was clear-headed enough to notice her hands hesitate for a second before she continued the task of unbuttoning his coat. “I figured that,” she answered, but he wasn’t fooled by the lightness in her voice. She was upset, she just didn’t want him to know.

“Here,” he said, thrusting the box toward her. The wrapping paper was wet, and he cursed himself for not thinking to get a bag. What the hell was wrong with him? “I’ll do this,” he added, as her hands fell away from the buttons at his torso. She took the damp box and turned away from him, going to set it on the table.

His gaze slid down the length of her body, noting that her legs were bare beneath the robe she was wearing. He swallowed and felt his throat click. He quickly dropped his focus to his coat, fumbling at the buttons and cursing beneath his breath.

“I didn’t know,” he said, barely aware of the babble of words tumbling from his mouth, “I just got an email and when I realized what happened, I made the manager meet me at the store to get the right present—”

“How the hell’d you manage _that_?” she asked, turning toward him.

“I may have mentioned the words _sexual harassment_ and _lawsuit_ but in my defense, they _could_ be open to a lawsuit doing something like this, if it were anyone less understanding than you—”

“Why didn’t you just call?”

He looked up. “Call?”

“To explain the mistake. You didn’t have to rush out in a blizzard.”

“I had to fix it,” he said.

“Ah. Well you still have a little time before midnight. I’ll go get it ready but I really think you should warm up for a bit before you go back out. I think she’ll understand if it’s late.”

“Who?” he asked, wondering if the cold air had killed off half of his brain cells.

“Whoever she is,” Benson answered, tightening her robe before crossing her arms. “I’m only saying it’s probably not worth freezing to death.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sure she’d understand if it’s a day late,” she said, speaking slowly so he could catch up. “If you explain the mix-up—”

“I didn’t buy it for someone else,” he said, finally catching on. “I bought it for you.” When she raised her eyebrows, he winced. “I mean, I bought a _present_ for you, that,” he said, gesturing desperately toward the soggy box on the table. “I didn’t buy the—the other thing for _anyone_.”

“Oh.”

“The store switched my box with someone else’s.”

“Okay.”

“I only bought one thing in there.” He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop talking; he was making a fool of himself. “If I’d bought it for anyone, it would’ve been you.” He pressed his lips together. She was staring at him as though he’d sprouted an extra head, and he couldn’t blame her. “I mean because I only bought a present for you…” he finished in a lame mutter. His cheeks were burning now, the rush of blood chasing away the chill that had the rest of his body numbed.

“Okay,” she repeated. She hesitated. “So...the only reason you’re soaking wet and half-frozen is...to bring me...whatever’s in that box?”

“No. I mean yes, to bring you that but also to make sure you knew I didn’t...What do you mean, get it _ready_?”

“If there’s no one waiting for you somewhere, take your coat and gloves off—and your boots. I need a drink. Scotch?”

“God, yes, please,” he said, and she smiled at the relief in his voice—relief at just the _idea_ of a swallow of liquor to warm him. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?” he asked as he peeled off his gloves and shucked his wet coat.

“Just put it over the back of the chair,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “No, I wasn’t sleeping. But again, Barba, you could’ve just called.”

“I guess so,” he answered, laying his coat and gloves over the wooden chair and toeing off his boots. Cold water immediately soaked through his socks, and he grimaced, peeling those off as well and stretching them over his coat. There was no way anything would be dry before she kicked him out; he was going to freeze on the way home.

He rubbed his hands on his damp thighs, trying to warm the skin beneath. He was _already_ frozen.

“I didn’t want you to think I’d—that I’d send you something like that—”

“I didn’t.”

“—without permission.”

“That’s why I was confused,” she said, pouring two generous glasses of scotch. Then, her movements stilling for a few seconds: “Permission?”

“And God,” he said, starting to pace in an effort to heat his muscles, “you tried to tell me it was wrong and I said I’d sent it for you to sleep in. You must’ve thought I’d lost my mind.”

“I assumed you got it for someone else.” She turned back toward him with the drinks in her hands. “But then I wasn’t sure.”

“How could you think that?” he asked, glancing at her as he paced.

She couldn’t keep the defensiveness from her voice. “You said you’d sent me pajamas, how do I know, maybe that’s what you think I sleep in.”

He frowned, looking at her. “No, I mean that I would’ve gotten it for someone else.”

She frowned in return. “Why wouldn’t I think _that_?” she shot back.

He didn’t answer, still frowning as he paced with his bare feet slapping quietly at the wet floor.

“It would be a good present for someone,” she said, to fill the silence. He thought her voice sounded placating. She was trying to diffuse the tension and get things back to normal. “Just maybe not for a coworker.”

He didn’t smile, shooting her a dark look. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No. But if you were trying to sleep with someone—” She broke off abruptly when he stopped to stare at her. “Oh, come on, lighten up,” she said after a few seconds, holding out one of the glasses. “Here.”

He took the glass, his fingers brushing hers, and immediately set it down so it wouldn’t tumble from his shaky grip. She looked from the glass to his face. “I’m not trying to sleep with anyone,” he said through numb lips. He watched her expression tighten, although she didn’t quite lose her smile.

“Of course not,” she said. “I was explaining why you would buy expensive lingerie since you seemed to be pretending not to know.”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” he said.

Now her smile was gone. “I understand that,” she answered.

“Shit. No,” he said, holding out a hand and stepping forward when she started toward the living room. “Wait. What the hell is wrong with me today? Ever since I woke up it’s like I’ve been in the wrong place, saying and doing the wrong thing, I can’t…” He shook his head and droplets fell from his hair. “I didn’t mean I don’t want to sleep with you.”

“This doesn’t have to be a thing, Rafael. It’s late. Drink. Get warm and dry.”

“Of course I do,” he said, the words falling from his lips before he could examine them. “Before Harris even mentioned your name. I meant I don’t want to _only_ sleep with you.” He closed his eyes and held up his hands. “Please, can we start over? Can we just...start this whole day over? Or at least this conversation?”

When she didn’t answer, he forced his eyes open to meet hers. She was sipping at her drink, staring at him over the rim of her glass, and he couldn’t see enough of her face to know what she was thinking.

“I should’ve bought you a hat for Christmas,” she remarked after a few moments of silence.

“I have earmuffs, I just forgot them.”

“Hmm.”

“Besides, the necklace chain was the most thoughtful…” He trailed off and sighed. “Liv,” he said quietly, “I don’t know why I’m such a disaster today, but I’m sorry. Look, I’ll leave, I’ll go home and we can just forget any of this ever happened, okay? We’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“Normal?”

“Comparatively,” he answered with a crooked curve of his lips.

“What’s in the box?”

“Flannel pajamas,” he said, and she smiled as she lowered her glass. “Hopefully they at least fit after all this.”

She laughed. “You didn’t like my sweats?”

“The t-shirt didn’t seem very warm.”

“No?”

“It was practically falling off you.”

“It’s seen better days,” she agreed. “It’s probably warmer than a silk negligee, though.”

He groaned. “Can we not mention that thing ever again?”

“Don't you have to take it back to the store?”

“Hell, no,” he said, and she laughed again. “Throw it out, give it away, do whatever you want.”

“Keep it?”

He opened and closed his mouth. Cleared his throat. Fidgeted, smoothing the front of his shirt. Glanced over at his scotch. “If, uh...If you have some use…” He licked his lower lip nervously. “If you want it,” he finally said.

“If I have some use for it?” she laughed. “It’s not exactly functional.” She paused, and he realized that she was no longer upset; on the contrary, she was amused by his discomfort. “Although it’s more comfortable than it looks.”

“I, um...You, uh, did you try it on?” he asked, trying desperately not to imagine her doing so.

“I’m still wearing it, actually,” she said.

Barba opened his mouth, but he couldn’t remember a single word. He sidestepped and snatched his glass from the table, quickly swallowing half of the scotch.

“Is that alright?” she asked, watching him.

“Yup,” he managed, his voice rough from the burn of liquor. “If it—if it—if it fits, then great, you got two presents.”

“It fits.”

“Good,” he said, sounding strangled to his own ears. He couldn’t meet her eyes. He wasn’t cold anymore, and a few regions were growing dangerously warm.

“You okay?”

“Yep,” he answered, taking another, smaller drink. “I just, uh...I think I’m gonna go lie in a snowbank for a minute.”

She tipped her head back to laugh, and the top of her robe stretched open, revealing a deep V of pale skin and a tiny hint of black lace.

No amount of scotch could rid Barba’s mouth of its dryness, so he stood holding the half-empty glass, staring at her as she laughed. _It’s now or never_ , he thought. “Liv, I—” he managed, but then he stopped, unsure how to proceed. There was so much at stake, too much at stake for him to ruin this.

She leveled him with a stare that said she knew exactly what he wanted to say. But that wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t allow her understanding to let him off the hook. They couldn’t push this aside and go back to _normal,_ not again. He couldn’t bear it.

“Ever since walking into that godforsaken store yesterday, I’ve been doing everything I can not to picture you wearing something like that,” he said.

To his relief, she smiled. “Have you.”

“Yes. But ever since walking in _here_ , I have no control over my thoughts.”

“Do you want to see?” she asked.

He was helpless to stop the sound that escaped his throat as he exhaled. “I think you’d have to peel me off the floor,” he muttered after a moment. She laughed softly, and he hesitated, searching her face as he tried to determine what she wanted to hear. How much of the truth she wanted to hear.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she said, taking another sip of scotch.

“Did you have a nice Christmas, Liv?” he asked softly, looking down at the light dancing in his scotch as he turned the glass in his hands.

She regarded him in silence for a few seconds. “Aside from an unhealthy dose of jealousy,” she finally answered, and he felt his lips curve into a smile. “Did _you_ have a nice Christmas, Rafael?”

“Hmm,” he answered without looking up. “You thought I’d bought lingerie for someone else?”

“It seemed like a possibility,” she said. “And it’s not like you don’t have the right. I wouldn’t expect you to...wait forever.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. He raised his eyes to hers. “What I wanted to give you was comfort, Liv. Something nice and soft and warm so you could cozy up on the couch and watch TV and then slip into bed and feel...loved. You deserve warmth and comfort and I know that as a single mother, things like new pajamas for yourself get pushed to the bottom of the list.

“I wanted you to feel safe and comfortable. And I wanted to be watching TV with you, to feel how warm the flannel was between us. I wanted to slip into bed with you and fall asleep with my arms around you and wake to the sight of your smile. I wanted to be here, with you and Noah, while he opened his presents and you sipped your coffee.

“I want the silk and lace, but only if you’re in it. Yes, I want you, Liv, but I want _everything_ with you. So. What do you want?”

He watched her set her glass on the counter and walk toward him. “May I?” she asked, reaching for his scotch, and he nodded once, allowing her to pull the glass from his fingers. She went to the counter and set it beside hers, picked up the present, and returned to him. She took his hand and headed toward the bedroom, and he followed a step behind, marveling at how well her fingers fit between his.

She led him into her bedroom and turned, closing the door behind him and locking it. He watched her walk to the dresser and set the present on top before bending to root through the bottom drawer. He swallowed, hard, at the sight of her robe stretching tight over her hips and backside, revealing the line--high and thin—of the nightie’s edge.

She straightened and walked toward him, making no effort to close the now-gaping robe. He could see the pale skin of her breasts fading into the lace, and a V of black silk down to her navel.

“Will you put these on?” she asked, holding the folded clothes toward him.

“Yes,” he said, without even looking as he took them from her hands.

“You can hang your wet clothes in the bathroom,” she told him, and he nodded, heading toward the smaller room.

He slipped inside and closed the door with a soft click. He looked down at what she’d given him and snorted softly, setting the clothes beside the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror; his hair was wet, his face flushed, his eyes bright.

He stripped out of his clothes. His skin was clammy but quickly began to warm as he pulled on the old NYPD sweatpants and Guns N Roses t-shirt. It wasn’t the same shirt she’d been wearing the other night—that thin scrap wouldn’t have fit him, but this faded old tour shirt was large enough for him to wear comfortably.

He peed and washed his hands and left his damp clothes hanging over the shower rod and his cell phone beside the sink. He knocked lightly on the inside of the bathroom door before exiting.

“Yeah,” she answered quietly, and he stepped out to find her sitting on the edge of her bed in her red and green flannel pajamas. She smiled at him, and his heart seemed to trip over itself in his chest.

“They didn’t get wet?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Didn’t make it through the box. Do you need socks? Your feet are probably freezing.”

It was his turn to shake his head as he slowly crossed the distance between them. She rose as he stopped in front of her, and he reached out a hand to finger at the sleeve of her shirt. “They fit well,” he murmured, smiling at her. “Are they comfortable?” When she nodded, he said, “So are these. I can see the appeal.”

She stepped closer, settling her hands on his hips, and kissed him. As soon as her lips touched his, Barba felt the last of the day’s tension slide away. His eyes closed, and his hands lifted to the curves of her jaw.

His desire was a low, slow burn spreading outward from his belly, but it was secondary to the feeling of _home_ he’d found in her kiss. Her body fit perfectly against his as she pressed closer; her tongue fit perfectly in his mouth, and he made a small sound before turning his face away to draw a breath.

“Liv,” he said, touching the side of his forehead to hers. “Can I sleep with you?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

She turned him, steering him back against the bed and down until he was sitting on the edge looking up at her. The blankets were already turned back, the pillows fluffed against the headboard. “Scoot over,” she told him with a smile, and he obediently turned, drawing his legs onto the bed and sliding his cold feet between the sheets, before shifting over to the middle of the bed.

She flipped off the light and slipped under the covers beside him, drawing the blankets up as he curled his arm around her shoulders. She snuggled against his chest, her muscles relaxing against his as the warmth of his body, and the comfort of his presence, spread through her. He kissed her head, brushing her hair back with gentle strokes of his fingers.

She wrapped her bare feet around his to warm his chilled toes, and he smiled into her hair. “Merry Christmas, Olivia,” he murmured.

“Did we make it before midnight?” she asked.

“Who cares,” he answered without glancing toward the clock, and she laughed quietly before turning her face to kiss his collarbone. She felt the small shiver pass through his body when she brought her hand to rest on his stomach, a shiver that had nothing to do with the blizzard beating against the windows.

“Merry Christmas, Rafa,” she said.

“Liv?” he asked after a few moments of listening to the wind howling outside.

“Hm.”

“Is it alright if I tell you I’m in love with you?”

She ran her fingers lightly over his stomach. “Is it alright if I ask you to stay here forever?” she answered.

They lapsed into an easy silence. He traced light circles on her upper arm, and she let her palm settle against his chest so she could feel the steady beat of his heart. With her cheek against his shoulder, she closed her eyes and let her breaths sync with his. Their mingled heat melted their bodies together, and she slid effortlessly into sleep.

Barba kissed her hair and laid his cheek against her head. Once he knew she was sleeping, he closed his eyes and followed her into the land of dreams.

 

*       *       *

 

It was just before three when she opened her eyes. She was warmer and more relaxed than she could remember being in a long time, and she smiled sleepily as Barba’s familiar scent filled her nostrils. She didn’t move, but he sensed the change in her breathing and woke a few moments later. His arm tightened around her and he stretched his legs with a small grunt of pleasure. Her smile widened.

“All these years I’ve been sleeping under a pile of blankets to keep warm,” he muttered sleepily, “and I’ve never been this comfortable in my life.”

She laughed. “I think it’s these _very_ nice pajamas.”

“I think it’s you,” he countered. He paused. “Although they are very nice pajamas someone gave you,” he added with a grin.

“Both of them.”

He chuckled. “I doubt the silk would be as warm.”

“That’s why I have _you_ ,” she answered.

“I could keep you warm. I’d burst into flames.”

She could hear the amusement in his voice. “Can we test that?” she asked.

After a few beats of silence: “When did you have in mind?”

“New Years? I’ll get a sitter and we can go to your place. We can start a new holiday tradition—I put it on, you peel it off.”

He shifted a bit and cleared his throat. “What should _I_ wear?” he asked.

“Jeans,” she answered without hesitation.

He laughed in surprise, tilting his head to look at her. “That was fast.”

“Don’t get me wrong, no one looks better in a tailored suit than you, Barba, but most of my fantasies start with you in a tight pair of jeans.”

“Most?”

“We can go down the list another time,” she said, and he laughed again. The sound caught in his chest when she slid her hand down the front of his shirt beneath the blankets. She tipped her face up so her breath was tickling his ear. “You still sleepy?” she asked.

“I’m, uh…whatever you want me to be.”

“What do you want?”

“I told you, Liv, I want everything with you. We’ve got time.”

“We’ve got time,” she repeated, sliding her leg over his and pushing herself up and over until she was lying on top of him, looking down at his face.

“ _Oof_ ,” he said as she let her weight settle onto him, and she grinned.

“Right now, we’ve got a few hours.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith,” he said.

“I’m not worried,” she answered, running a finger along his stubble-roughened jaw, and he smirked up at her. “Do you think we can get out of these clothes without having to get out of bed?”

“Comfortable, are you?” he laughed, running his hands down her sides to her hips.

“Very. I could just sleep here.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll roast.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“You feel like you might be interested in a little more than sleeping.”

“I’m interested in a lot more than sleeping,” he agreed.

“Good. So? You think we can make this work?”

“Hmm.” He grinned. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Liv,” he said, and she laughed as she ducked her head to kiss him.

 


End file.
